


The Ticking

by Findingthestars



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:04:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findingthestars/pseuds/Findingthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a prompt that was likely intended for a  cracky fill but...that didn't happen (see end note).</p><p>Mycroft is at home when he hears a ticking. The sound is no ordinary one: It means that that an extraordinay, and possibly devastating, event has happened to Sherlock.</p><p>It also means that the most important task as Sherlock's brother, and as a Holmes, has occured.</p><p>Can be read as deep friendship or slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ticking

**Author's Note:**

> Intentionally "vague" as to leave much to your, dear readers, interpretation

The sound of a steady ticking filled the entirety of Mycroft Holmes' immense home.

Mycroft, who was at his desk in the study, stiffened. The pen he had been using broke and shattered in his hand. Ink mixed with blood and stained his cuff. Mycroft stood. He wavered slightly. 

Mycroft knew what the ticking could mean. It was the one, the only, sound that completely terrified him. Mycroft was unaware of the sweat that leeched into the fabric of his shirt. The two shards of durable plastic, embeded into the flesh of his palm, were ignored.

World War Three could be declared. The Queen herself could demand his audience. Nothing, _nothing_ could distract him, move him as he stumbled towards the ebony box sitting on the mantel of the fireplace.

When he was nine, his father passed the box to him. He learned that when Sherlock reached the same age, he would be given a similar box. 

Every Holmes' son, from the beginning of the line, so many centuries ago that it was almost lost; every one was given the same responsibility. 

The responsibility is what made the Holmes men Holmes'. 

Only once before had he heard the ticking. It was the day his Mother had nearly died from a heart attack. Mycroft was seventeen. Sherlock had, at the age of ten, climbed into his bed. He did not protest. Both brothers listened to the ticking. As they finally held each other, the ticking slowed and blessedly stopped. 

As Sherlock crafted his "Sociopath" persona, one perfected by research hunching in library corners and standing tall in asylums; Mycroft crafted his. He was unmoveable. He was all knowing. He was unafraid.

 _Was_ unafraid. His hands shook as he touched the box. Blood and ink mixed with sweat. Mycroft closed his eyes. Everything within him ached as he heard the soft creak of hinges, the wuff of satin against wood. 

_Father...I'm not ready_ Mycroft opened his eyes as slowly as possible.

It was nestled against moss-green satin. No dust clouded it. No scratches marred it. It was beautiful, stunning. Extraordinary.

Sherlock's heart. 

Mycroft whispered "brother mine" as his unstained hand, steady and dry now, cupped the glass and copper. The ivory and gold. The single drop of blood, secured beneath it all. 

He felt the rush of air. Heard the groan and the beat. Every single moment of Sherlocks life burst before Mycroft's vision.

He was standing before Sherlock. There, in all its grotesqueness, was the source of the ticking. 

He wanted to step back.

To let go. 

To stop.

He was as unaware of the tears that gathered in his eyes as he was aware of the ones that dropped freely, hauntingly, from Sherlock's

_My brother is crying._

"Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice was so soft, that it was only a breath. It was so broken, so very broken, that none would have believed it belonged to him.

_I'm here._

"Please, Mycroft. Please stop the ticking." Sherlock shuddered.

_I can't do that._

"You stopped it before." Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter against the precious cargo against his chest.

_I didn't stop it. Mummy lived._

"Please." Sherlock buried his face into short, brass-blonde hair. He raised his head. Lips and nose, chin and cheek were scattered with blood "Please stop it ticking."

_I cannot._

"You can." Sherlock whispered. 

Mycroft shook his head.

"You know how!" Sherlock's voice grew louder, stronger. It became near feral "Take it. Take it and smash it. Burn it." Sherlock choked briefly. "Stop the ticking. Please brother."

_I won't. You know this._

"Leave me then." Sherlock placed his cheek against the brass-blonde hair again and closed his eyes.

_Come when you are ready._

Mycroft lifted his hand. He was back in the study. Thunder rumbled, lightening flashed.

The ticking did not stop.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt, posted on the meme, was this:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _It was a dark and stormy night and Mycroft was alone in the house. He was sitting by the fire when he heard a mysterious ticking noise..._
> 
>  
> 
> The quote is taken from "Potter Pals: The Mysterious Ticking noise" (found here: http://youtu.be/Tx1XIm6q4r4)
> 
> I knew that the prompter likely wanted something far more different than this. I left a note in the original fill, but have left the quote out of my summary as it can be extremely misleading as to what one might expect.
> 
> Con-crit appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you, in advance, if you feel this worthy of kudos or comments.


End file.
